


Torbjorn and Soldier 69

by ApePeeJones



Series: Torbjorn and Soldier 69 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApePeeJones/pseuds/ApePeeJones
Summary: An invigorating story filled with midgets, porn, meth, and extreme (sexual) violence. If you love beautiful writing detail, realistic and fleshed-out characters, and a plot that puts Shakespeare to shame, then this story is a must-read for you.





	1. The Beginning of the End

It was a very ordinary day at Watchpoint Gibraltar. Nothing unusual was going on, and the brave heroes of Overwatch were just relaxing in the burning sun.  
Three heroes in particular, Winston, Torbjorn, and Soldier76, were sunbathing on the cliffside, all of them dressed in nothing but their thongs. They were getting more and more tan by the minute, Torbjorn’s thick, meaty body turning into one of a golden-skinned Greek God.  
“This is a very calming day.” Winston said, and then glanced over to Torbjorn. His eyes went wide as hell. “FUCk, Torbjorn! You are making me so horny with that sweet ass!”  
“Sorry Winston you cannot rape my sweaty, gay asshole today!” Torbjorn said. “I have already taken the liberty of pounding my own ass with my hammer this morning!”  
“Shut fuck up.” Soldier76, who was very edgy and pissed off, said.  
“Watch out, you sexy young lad.” Torbjorn said. ‘Being insulted is one of my fetishes, and sometimes I cannot stop myself from getting excessively horny.”  
“Yo, me too.” Winston said, and they all laughed, except for Soldier76. He was too edgy for laughter. Plus he really fucking despised Torbjorn and Winston for obvious reasons. He was about to tell them to piss off when he was inteurpted by manic giggling.  
“Oi, mates.” Tracer said, blinking in front of the three sunbathing hunks. She was talking a mile a minute, practically frothing at the mouth, as if she was on some serious meth. “Get off your lazy asses real quick. I just went downstairs to make some coffee, like I do. Because I’m one of those people.”  
“A filthy homosexual.” Soldier76 guessed.  
“No, a Coffee Drinkers. But then, as I went to pour my coffee, I saw someone already using the Keurig. Guess who it was?”  
“A filthy homosexual.”  
“No, it was fucking Cthulhu, Lord of Madness.” Tracer said. “I was tryna just sneak past him, but then my mouth automatically made a smart comment about his ass, like I do, and he turned around and guess what he did.”  
“He-”  
“No he turned around and fucking saw me. Then he said, ‘What the fuck did you say about my ass little prick?’ And I said, ‘Nothin. Except for it’s small and couldn’t take my sixteen-foot dick for shit’. Then I started hearing distorted voices, you know, like I do, and I turn around and I see all the people that I’ve FUCKING MURDERED, just standing around, black goo spewin out their eyes and shit and then-”  
“Tracer are you on fucking meth again?” Soldier76 asked.  
“Just a little bit.” Tracer twitched, and then hastily glanced behind her. She screamed. “Shit! It’s Captain Blueballs, here to commit a little bit of Butt Piracy! Fuckin skedaddle, bitches!” She then teleported away, leaving Soldier76 alone with Torbjorn and Winston yet again. God damn it. He would rather hang out with a meth-addicted schizophrenic than the two retarded perverts lying next to him on the rocks. Unforutnately, Tracer’s absence meant that Torbjorn was no longer scared for his life, so he opened his goddamn mouth again.  
“I really love porn.” He said, closing his eyes and taking a deep whiff of the sea air. “My favorite porn is gay Rick and Morty fanfiction. What about you, Winston?”  
“I just… LOVe... LOvE… LOOOVE… penis!” Winston cried out, suddenly gripping his crotch with the might of a flakka-addicted woman saving her child from being crushed underneath the Scooby-Doo van. “Ooooh! Moist… penis! It feels so good on my swollen, chaffed… ASSHOLE!”  
“Lord Tewaaraton above, just shut the fuck up you fat piece of fucking shit.” Soldier76 said, really wishing he had brought his gun so he could’ve popped Winston’s gay ass right there.  
While they were arguing amongst themselves, little did they know that an enemy was approaching.  
Before Soldier76’s very eyes, fucking Cthulhu himself manifested in front of them, his dark aura of pure insanity nearly stopping Soldier76’s already failing heart instantly. But Torbjorn and Winston was so engrossed in literally jacking off to their gay porn fantasies that they didn’t notice the twenty-foot tall eldritch entity standing before them.  
“Shit, Tracer wasn’t as fucking insane as I thought.” Soldier mused to himself, scratching his very light stubble. “What do you know.”  
“I am Cthulhu, Lord of Madness, Denizen of Despair.” The octopus-headed fuck said, as if that meant dick.  
“Fuck you, Cthulhu.” Soldier growled. “I am trying to get tan and toned here, prick.”  
Torbjorn and Winston finally finished jacking off, cumming onto the rocks of Gibraltar’s cliffs. The surface of the rock was so hot the cum instantly sizzled away and evaporated into the atmosphere. The atmosphere then became 800% more toxic than it already was. “Fuckin’ hell, Wisnton!” Torbjorn cried, pulling up his metal thong. “That was my thirteenth favorite jerkin’ off session I’ve had today!”  
“Oh shit, Torbjorn!” Winston exclaimed, aiming a fat, sausage-like finger at Cthulhu, who was literally just standing there. Even though his head was an octopus, he still managed to look horrified. “It’s Cockthulhu!”  
“My name is not Cockthulhu.” Cthulhu said. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”  
“Oh, that must’ve been the newest fanfiction I read last night.” Winston said. “It made me VERRRY horny.”  
“This is why I’ve come to fucking kill all of you.” Cthulhu said.  
“What?” Torbjorn said. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard what Cthulhu had said, he was just too retarded to comprehend it.  
“Fuck this I’m out.” Cthulhu said, shaking his head. “I was going to kill you but it’s really not worth my damn time.” Cthulhu then disappeared, leaving Eli Whitney, inventor of the Cotton Gin, standing in his place.  
“Who the hell is this?” Torbjorn asked, scratching his dick.  
“I am Eli Whitney, inventor of the Cotton Gin. I was hiding behind Cthulhu, hoping that you wouldn’t notice me. But now that you have, I have to initiate my sinister plan.”  
“What’s that?” Torbjorn asked, still scratching his dick.  
“I will resurrect the Confederate Army and finally destroy the damn Union. They will rape and enslave millions and make them work my cotton gins. So much cotton will be ginned that it’s fucking insane. But the only people standing in my way are you heroes in Overwatch.”  
“We will stop you, sinister villain Eli Whitney!” Winston announced, standing up to his full height of eight feet, and grabbing a fistful of his bulge. “I will personally-” Winston was interrupted when Eli Whitney pulled out a musket and blew Winston’s head off. His face fucking exploded into millions of bloody pieces and splattered all over Torbjorn. Winston then collapsed, his headless body spewing blood everywhere.  
“Fucky-wucky!” Torbjorn exclaimed. “Winston is dead!”  
“Thank God.” Soldier said with a sigh of relief.  
“Now I will kill you both.” Eli Whitney said, raising his rifled musket. But before he could fire, a fucking plane crashed into him and he fucking died.  
“Shit.” Torbjorn said. “It’s Malaysia Flight 370! It’s come home to Daddy!”  
“Damn it.” Soldier said, now more depressed and edgy than ever.  
“Time for fucky-wucky with my BABY!” Torbjorn screeched, and then initiated violent sexual intercourse with Malaysia Flight 370. Like, not the people on it, or anything. The plane itself.  
“Fuck it.” Soldier said, and then tore off his thong. “Let’s party.”  



	2. Interdimensional Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winston is dead by the hand of the devious Eli Whitney, and Torbjorn isn't feeling quite like himself. What will our honorable heroes at Overwatch do to fix this extremely horrific problem?

“Soldier69,” Torbjorn said as he casually pounded his turret from the back. “I’ve been excessively horny ever since the death of Eli Whitney, inventor of the cotton gin.”  
“Who gives a shit.” Soldier76 said, pulling his pants back up. He had just gotten through with his turn fucking Torbjorn’s turret, and his dick was raw as chef’s special sushi. He might’ve been pissed off, but he wasn’t above fucking a good turret now and then.  
“I think I know why.” Torbjorn said, as if Soldier hadn’t said anything. “I miss Winston. Ever since he died, I haven’t truly cum. I never realized it until it was too late, but… it was his tight, moist asshole that got me going.”  
“God damn it.” Soldier said. “Quit talking like Winston was the only piece of ass around. Everyone hated him, and the world is glad he’s dead. You’ll find another butt-buddy.”  
“AHAHHHH!” Torbjorn wailed as his massive cock spasmed, and he withdrew it from the turret’s faux asshole. Unsurprisingly, it came out as dry and limp as it had gone in. Not a speck of cum could be seen. “No!” Torbjorn cried, punching himself in the dick. “Nooo! Soldier69, we have to do something! I can’t cum! What am I without my sexual gumption!?”  
“You’re a horny midget.” Soldier replied easily. “With no friends and no prospects.”  
“Exactly!” Torbjorn said, shoving his meaty, flaccid penis back in his skimpy underwear. “That’s why we need to get Winston back!”  
“He’s fucking dead, you retarded slab of meat.” Soldier said. “How do you propose we get him back?”  
“Death isn’t the end, 69!” Torbjorn said. “There’s legend of a powerful necromancer who lives in the ghetto of Lubbock, Texas. One time she blew out both my kneecaps for taking a fat shit on her lawn. She’s sure to help us out!”  
“Lubbock, you say?” Soldier said, scratching his chin. “Well you’re not wrong for once. I know who you’re talking about. Her name’s Mercy. I was her gay best friend back in high school.”  
“SHIT, boi!” Torbjorn exclaimed, giving Soldier an affectionate pat on the balls. “That means you’re the only member of Overwatch to go to high school. None of the rest of us ever graduated eighth grade. You know, I always knew you was a fucking genius, Soldier69. But it looks like your nerdism is finally coming in handy. Mercy ought to help us now. The bond between a woman and her gay best friend is unbreakable!”  
“It’s too bad she got killed in a gang-war a few years back.” Soldier said. “Abu-Bakr Al-Baghdadi punched her in the cunt so hard it leveled an entire city block. Her mother wouldn’t let me into the funeral because she blames the gays for the rise of ISIS in the West.”  
“Well she isn’t wrong.” Torbjorn said. “But if Mercy’s dead, then there’s only one thing we can do…”  
“Give up and go jack off to Ritz cracker porn.” Soldier76 guessed.  
“No, we have to reach an alternate dimension where Mercy is still alive, so that she can resurrect Winston. Then I can finally feel sweaty glory of having Winston’s ape cock fill my ass once again.”  
“Oi!” Tracer said, blinking into existence in front of them. “Did someone say, ‘road trip to an alternate dimension?’ I’m fuckin in, nigga!”  
“We’re not going on a-”  
Torbjorn reached into his underwear and then went knuckles-deep in his asshole, withdrawing a fucking portal machine. “FuUCk yeah, Tracer! Good thing I stole this portal machine from that autistic piece of shit Symmetra. I only know what it does because I was jacking off in her closet one night and accidentally came on it. It activated and sent me to an alternate dimension where the porn industry was owned by the Migos and instead of me raping my turret 24/7, I was raped by my turret 265/89. Time was weird there, let me tell you.”  
“Is anyone going to point out that this plan makes no sense?” Soldier said, frowning as the portal machine came to life.  
“Yay!” Tracer said, teleporting all around and clapping her hands. “Let’s go fuck some aliens!”  
“YIIIPIEEE!” TORBJon screamed, and then dove headfirst into the portal. Tracer pulled a syringe from her pocket and stuck it directly into her neck. After the vial was empty, she teleported through the portal, vanishing behind dimensional tear.  
“Fuck it.” Soldier said, and then took off his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, it's Ape Pee Jones. This chapter was a little shorter, just to act as the bridge to the random retardation from chapter 1 to the slightly more retarded shit later on. Make sure to like, favorite, subscribe, follow if you're feeelin' the mood. Let me know if you're turned the fuck on. Review the fuck out of me.
> 
> Stay horny, friends.


	3. Brave New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have entered an entirely new dimension in search of the infamous necromancer Mercy. There they meet a new ally(?), and things seem perfect. But... will they remain that way? Who knows? I sure don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, my loyal readers! The first chapter, as you might have guessed, was meant to be a stand alone novel. but due to the amount of praise the story received on fanfiction.net, I decided to not only continue the story with a bit more seriousness behind it but also post it on here. Make sure to favorite/follow the story if you’re turned the fuck on, and give it a review to let me know how you’re feelin’. Feelin’ horny? Tell me about it. Feelin’ depressed? Tell ol’ Ape Pee. Want more? Let ya’ girl know. Anyway, enjoy the retardation.   
> Oh, and stay horny, friends.

Soldier couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had stepped through Symmetra’s Autism Gate without any great expectations, because the only other thing Symmetra had designed using her savant syndrome was a glove that could build holographic chairs. And that was fucking stupid.   
But the world before him now, it was more extravagant than anything his (admittedly stale and boring) imagination could ever produce. He stood in what seemed to be a utopia, with gargantuan, fairylike buildings constructed from solid gold and stained-glass towering above his head. The sky was the same flawless, crystal-azure as an oil painting, and songbirds sang spritely songs as the sun’s warmth smiled down upon them.  
“Holy blue ballsacks!” Torbjorn exclaimed, waddling over to stand by him. “This place is so bright, all I need to do is take off my pants and I’ll finally have a black cock!”  
“Torbjorn. Seriously, fuck you.” Soldier said. “We’re surrounded by breath-takingly beautiful, otherworldly scenery, and all you can do is mention tanning your cock.”   
“Fuck me?!” Torbjorn cackled, giving his dick an affectionate pat. “Yes please!”  
“Oi, ya fat fucks.” Tracer said, a glazed, faraway look in her eyes. “Is it the black tar talkin’, or is this place made of bloody gold?”   
“Hey, don’t call me a fat fuck!” Torbjorn said, shaking a fat finger in her face. “I’m just about to get pissed! And you don’t wanna see me piss!”  
“Oh, sorry.” Tracer said quickly. “I meant to say ‘oi, nigga’.”  
“No, this is real.” Soldier interrupted before Torbjorn could say some more retarded shit. “I don’t really believe it myself, but Symmetry’s Autism Machine actually fucking worked.”  
“You’re shittin me.” Tracer said, and then had a fit of randomly teleporting around everywhere. When she was once again rooted in reality, she squinted up at the sky. “Well riddle me this, Batman. Is the surface of the sun peeling away to reveal the fanged maw of an eldritch time-worm, a living vacuum of infinite nothingness, the world-eater known as Bonchos Steambath?”  
“No, that one’s all you.” Soldier said. “Also, what the fuck.”  
“I don’t think Bonchos Steambath exists.” Torbjorn supplied. “If there was a man with the name of ‘Steambath’, I would have fucked him ten times by now.”  
“Oh, he exists.” Tracer trailed off, her eyes slowly widening in a mix of terror and awe. “I’ve seen him. I see him. I see him every day.” She took a deep breath, and then teleported directly beside him, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “He lives inside my nightmares.”  
“Again, what the fuck.” Soldier said.  
“Hello, heroes of Overwatch.” An unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind them, causing Soldier to jump. He whipped around, initiating the Silat fighting pose he learned from the Ancient Master while stranded in the jungles of Malaysia. When he saw who it was, however, he dropped his hands. Symmetra sat before them on one of her holographic chairs, smiling warmly and sipping on a glass of orange juice. “I’m so glad you could make it to our utopia.”  
“Oi, niggas!” Tracer said, jabbing a finger at Symmetrel. “It’s Symoe!”  
“Symmetry?” Soldier asked, resisting the urge to scratch the ever-growing itch in his asshole. Probably the space-crabs Torbjorn had warned him about. Apparently, they often latched onto juicy ass during rift-travel. “When the hell did you get here?”  
“I’ve been here.” Symmerto said. “I was long prepared for your arrival through the rift. Why else would I bring my orange juice outside?” She paused. “Oh, and can someone please tell this prick of an ‘author’ to stop misspelling my name in increasingly moronic ways?”  
“Huh?” Soldier asked, utterly lost. He might’ve graduated from high school, but even with his high level of education he could barely understand a word of what Symeod’s autistic Indian ass was saying.  
“Never mind.” She said, and then took another extremely small sip of her orange juice. “You wouldn’t be able to grasp the concept. And before you ask, yes, I can predict exactly what all of you are going to say. No Torbjorn, I am not interested in seeing you use your penis as a mop. Oh, well the answer to that question is fairly simple. I have the IQ of a fucking Alakazam, an extraordinary intellect that allows me to easily comprehend advanced, metaphysical material such as the nature of reality and Rick and Morty.”  
“Oh,” Soldier said, nodding. “I think I get what you’re saying. You’re so goddamn autistic that you became a living god of knowledge.”  
SYmeor took a very long, slow sip of her orange juice, narrowing her eyes. “Yes.”  
“Did I hear someone say Rick and Morty?” Torbjorn piped up. “Did I ever tell you guys that’s my favorite gay porn to-”  
“Shut the FDucku.” Soldier said, silencing Torbjorn. He turned back to Symernais. “I guess you already know that we’re from another dimension, and we used your other self’s portal thing to teleport here.”  
“We’re on a mission to help me cum once again!” Torbjorn added. Soldier punched him in the face, instantly sending him into a coma.  
“He was right though.” Soldier said.  
“I know.” Sadyw said. “This was all evident to me.” She gestured to the gilded city around them. “This is the paradise of Uniontown, the perfect society. As a species, humanity has eliminated all violence, crime, hatred, bias, and perversions. We have come to be at peace with not only ourselves, but the world around us.”  
“Wow this world fuckin sucks.” Tracer said. She then reached into her pockets and pulled out two Uzis. She looked down at the guns in shock, as if she hadn’t planned on whipping them out. “Uh oh, mates. The Devil just told me to start the slaughter.”  
Seugh frowned slightly. “Hmm. I seem to be unable to predict Tracer’s mannerisms, since she is so fucking cracked out and insane. That might be a problem.”  
“Oi, watch this!” Tracer said, and then held her Uzis out. “Uzi…” The guns suddenly blinked away in a flash of blue light. She wiggled her empty fingers, as if to prove she wasn’t hiding the guns somewhere. “No Uzi. Ay.”  
Sehrfn’s eyes went wide. “What?! You fool! Where did you send those guns?”  
Tracer shrugged. “Eh, they’re in the timestream somewhere. Probably nowhere important, though. So don’t get your dick in a twist, nigga.”

Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia (1865)  
Robert E. Lee looked down at the documents which would put an end to the South once and for all, and he could feel nothing but disappointment. He had failed. He had failed Virginia. He had failed the Confederacy. He had failed his people. He had failed the worthy cause of States’ Rights.   
“You’d better sign here.” Ulysses S. Grant said, a smug grin on his face. He tapped the dotted line on the paper before him. “Admit that the Union is superior, and always will be. Honest Abe will take mercy on your putrid souls.”  
“Shit on my dick.” Lee said with a sigh. “Well boys, I reckon this is end.”  
He had accepted defeat, but still sent a silent prayer to his Lord, Yahweh. If you truly support the South and States’ Rights, oh Lord, save us now!  
Suddenly, two strange machines appeared in his hands. He was shocked for a moment, but quickly realized that Yahweh had certainly heard his prayer and sent him support in the form of the guns used by the Archangel Michael. “Die, fuckas!” Robert E. Lee screamed, and then let loose on the Unioners. The bullets ripped through Ulysses and his damn Yankees, chewing them up with the wrath of God.   
It was less than three seconds before they were all dead, torn to bits by his holy bullets. “Yes!” Robert E. Lee said. “I will use these enchanted guns, created by Lord Yahweh himself, to bring Honest Abe and the Union to its knees! The Confederacy will rule the world!”

Unknown Place, Unknown Time  
“Ah, shit.” Soldier groaned, rubbing his head. “I’m fuckin’ dead.”  
“Fucky-wucky!” Torbjorn shrieked, springing from his coma, panting hard. “I just had a nightmare, boys! I could never take off my pants and underwear ever again! It had me shakin!”  
“Oi.” Tracer said, stumbling around like a drunken, toddler ballerina. “I think I’m gonna’ fuckin’ puke.”  
Soldier took in his surroundings, in utter disbelief for the second time that day. Instead of a city, they were now lying in the middle of an empty, barren dirt road. The wasteland landscape stretched on infinitely, the soil yellowish and reeking of sulfur. The sky, instead of an oceanic blue, was now blood red, and thick, noxious, black smog clouds rolled overhead, darkening the landscape even further.   
“What in the hell?” Soldier said, not sure what else to say.  
“Hello, pricks.” A now familiar voice spoke. Soldier turned, fully expecting to see Symetrtea. Technically, he wasn’t wrong.  
Symettra stood before them, but at the same time, it wasn’t Syemettra. She looked mostly the same, except instead of being an Indian, she was now a dragon-lady, complete with scales and a weird-ass tail for hair. But, unfortunately enough, that wasn’t the weirdest part. The weirdest part was her outfit; it was a black military officer’s uniform, adorned with silver skulls and crosses, but also a red armband. And on that armband, was a very familiar symbol. The Swastika.   
“What the hell?” Soldier repeated.  
Dragon-Nazi Symmetra sighed, carefully bringing her glass of orange juice to her lips. “Yes. You morons have royally fucked things up this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torbjorn speaks in an extremely southern accent, just so you know. He also identifies as an “Extreme Homosexual.”


End file.
